


Litany

by The Librarina (tears_of_nienna)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Blowjobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fingering, Not approved by the APA, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tears_of_nienna/pseuds/The%20Librarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joly, on the verge of a panic attack, needs something to distract him. Bossuet and Musichetta are  glad to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Litany

**Author's Note:**

  * For [got_spunk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/got_spunk/gifts).



Joly was not having a heart attack.

Probably.

After all, lightheadedness and palpitations and shortness of breath were all classic symptoms of a panic attack. Joly _knew_ that.

But they were _also_ symptoms of a heart attack.

The movie he'd been watching with Bossuet and Musichetta, the three of them piled together on the worn-out sofa, faded into the background. He knew that people went to the hospital all the time, thinking they were dying, only to learn that they were really having a panic attack.

But what about the _opposite_ case? How many people thought they were having a panic attack and ignored their symptoms, only to drop dead of a heart attack later that day? There were no statistics on those cases, because _all of the subjects were dead_. You couldn't even call up your psychiatrist and say _hey, asshole,_ _I told you so_ if you were dead.

Slowly, hoping not to draw any attention, he slid one hand over to grip the opposite wrist, so that he could press his thumb against the pulse there and assure himself that his heart was still beating normally.

He hadn't been quite careful enough. Musichetta nudged him gently with one shoulder. "Hey, darling. You all right?"

"Yes," Joly said quickly. "Well, I mean...no, but--"

Bossuet reached for the remote.

Joly sighed. "No, don't stop the movie, it's fine. I'm _fine._ "

Bossuet hit _pause_ anyway. "Talk to us," he said, turning so that he was facing Joly.

Musichetta looped her arms lightly around Joly's waist from behind. "Let us help."

"It's nothing, it's just...I'm worried, that's all." He buried his face in his hands. It seemed like all he did was pester other people with his ridiculous problems. He didn't know why either of them put up with it, but the idea that one day they might _stop_ putting up with it--and with him--just added fuel to what was edging on a full-scale panic attack.

"Do you _want_ to talk about it?" Musichetta asked.

He shook his head. Talking sometimes helped, hearing the absurdity of his thoughts actually spoken out loud, but not this time. No, this was going to end in Xanax and tears unless he found something to else to focus on _right now_ \--

Bossuet leaned in and pressed a light kiss to Joly's cheek. "You know," he said lightly, "Someone once told me that the best way to head off a panic attack is with a distraction."

" _I_ told you that," Joly muttered.

"Right, let me rephrase that. Some brilliant guy that I love very much once told me that the best way to head off a panic attack is with a distraction."

Musichetta's arms tightened gently around Joly's waist. "I think what our dear Bossuet is trying to say is, would you like us to distract you?"

"Yes," he whispered. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than a diversion, the intimate sort of distraction that only they could give him.

Bossuet knelt on the sofa in front of him, and Musichetta gathered Joly into her lap, crossing her legs beneath him. Her short nails tickled along his ribs as she pulled his t-shirt up and over his head. Bossuet kissed his way down Joly's chest, and Joly lifted a slightly shaky hand to palm the smooth curve of Bossuet's skull.

"Say your litany," Bossuet murmured, his lips warm against Joly's skin and his eyes wide and dark as he looked up.

Joly swallowed hard. He used the litany as a kind of mantra, something to focus on when the panic threatened to overwhelm him. And they wanted him to say it _now_? Half the time, he couldn't remember his own _name_ when they had their hands on him.

He could feel Musichetta's smile in the way her lips ghosted over the back of his neck. "We'll help you, if you forget the words."

Joly took a deep breath and nodded; Bossuet unfastened Joly's jeans and tugged them off.

"I must not fear," Joly began, gasping as Bossuet's warm hand curled around his cock. He was hard as hell in seconds, and the panic that had been trying to claw its way up his throat seemed to recede a little.

Musichetta let go of him long enough to tug her shirt over her head, and when she pulled him close again he could feel the press of her breasts against his back. Joly let his head tip back against her bare shoulder and turned to kiss her, his breath catching a little when Bossuet began to stroke him.

Musichetta broke the kiss and reached for something in the purse she'd left on the floor. Joly closed his eyes and tried to focus on the next line. "Fear is the mind-killer," he said.

A moment later he felt slick fingers trailing down from the base of his spine, circling and teasing. Because of course Musichetta carried lube in her purse--and Bossuet in the inside pocket of his favorite leather jacket, and Joly tucked inside the first-aid kit he always kept with him. Because you never knew when you might need it, and need it _now_.

His voice cracked on the next line. "Fear is the little death-- _mm_."

Musichetta chuckled and pressed a bit deeper. "Oh, we'll show you the little death."

" _La petite mort_ ," Bossuet agreed, his breath hot against the skin of Joly's cock.  

"Go on. The little death..." Musichetta prompted.

Joly drew in a deep, shaky breath. "...the little death that brings total obliteration."

Bossuet took the head of Joly's cock into his mouth, and the next minute--hour-- _lifetime_ \--was nothing but heat and wet and the velvet glide of Bossuet's tongue, and the teasing thrust of first one, then two of Musichetta's fingers inside him.

"I will face my fear," Joly whispered.

Bossuet dipped his head to take him deeper. Joly's hands clutched at whatever they could reach, one curling in the soft collar of Bossuet's t-shirt and the other gripping Musichetta's denim-clad knee. Bossuet hummed appreciatively, and the sound seemed to vibrate all through Joly's body, a resonant frequency that could shake him apart.

"I will permit it to pass over me and--and _through_ me," he groaned, the words bursting from him as Musichetta _twisted_ her fingers, a stretching burn and the lightest hint of pressure where he wanted it. He shifted to find a better angle, and Bossuet's hands rose to hold him in place, long fingers curled over Joly's hipbones while he pulled back to suck at the head of Joly's cock.

His heart was pounding now, but not in panic. He shut his eyes tightly, his breath coming in quick gasps that broke up the lines he spoke. "And-- and when it has gone past, I will-- turn the inner eye-- to see its path. Where the fear has gone-- oh, _oh_." It was too much. Bossuet had taken him all the way in and was _swallowing_ around his cock now. Musichetta had somehow managed to time the shallow thrusts of her fingers to the rhythm Bossuet had set. Joly felt it rushing up to him, inescapable and too much and too _soon_ , he wasn't finished--

"There will be n- _nothing_ ," he gasped, and Bossuet's cheeks hollowed and Musichetta's fingers curled and he was coming on a sharp, wordless shout, his hips snapping forward into Bossuet's mouth and back onto Musichetta's fingers as he rode it out.

He collapsed then, falling back with his head on Musichetta's shoulder. She wrapped one arm around his waist to hold him steady. Joly curled a hand in the thin cotton of Bossuet's t-shirt and pulled him up so that he could kiss him, licking gently into Bossuet's mouth to taste himself there. Bossuet smiled, a little bit smug, and laid his head on Joly's chest, where his heart was slowly settling back into a normal pace.

Joly hadn't finished the litany, but the panic was over, its threat fading like a summer squall. His head felt heavy, his heart beat slow and even, and he was pressed between the two people he loved most, and who loved him in return.

_There will be nothing_ , he thought, and the last words came out in a sleepy murmur. "Only we will remain."

**Author's Note:**

> Caveat: I am not recommending hot threesome sex as a coping tactic for anxiety disorders. What works for sexy fictional OT3s may not work for you and your partner(s). I am not a doctor, a lawyer, or a Bene Gesserit.
> 
> Joly quotes the Litany Against Fear from Frank Herbert's _Dune_ , the full text of which is below:
> 
> _I must not fear._  
>  Fear is the mind-killer.  
> Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.  
> I will face my fear.  
> I will allow it to pass over me and through me.  
> And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path.  
> Where the fear has gone, there will be nothing.  
> Only I will remain. 
> 
> He changes the last _I_ to _we_ , for obvious reasons.


End file.
